


Dream Weaver

by myxstorie



Category: Johnny's Entertainment, Kis-My-Ft2 (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-26
Updated: 2013-08-26
Packaged: 2017-12-24 17:25:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/942604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myxstorie/pseuds/myxstorie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tamamori loves to dream.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dream Weaver

**Dream Weaver**  
 _PG13; Miyata/Tamamori_  
For [](http://dreamweavernyx.livejournal.com/profile)[**dreamweavernyx**](http://dreamweavernyx.livejournal.com/) for [](http://kis-my-fic2.livejournal.com/profile)[**kis_my_fic2**](http://kis-my-fic2.livejournal.com/)'12.

-

Tamamori loved his life. It wasn't something a lot of people could say, but Tamamori was confident and content in the knowledge that his life was good. He was young, energetic, joyful and even relatively comfortable with his looks. Sure, he might have looked in the mirror sometimes and wondered if his eyes were too far apart, or if his nose was a little wonky, but he could see out of both of those eyes, his nose was in the center of his face and there was a mouth just below that, so really, he could have looked a whole lot worse. He was close to his parents, had a small, honest group of friends, and had a younger brother to be proud of. He loved his city, his country, his job, loved it all without bias.

But Tamamori also loved to dream. He loved to escape into new and exciting worlds, places that thrilled him, places that filled him with wonder, even places that terrified him. It was exhilarating to feel that influx of emotion, adrenaline rushing through his body and making his heart pound in his ears. In a dream he could be whoever he wanted, he could do whatever he wanted, without worry or fear. If Tamamori wanted to see what it was like to jump as high as the clouds, fly with the birds, talk with the trees, he could, in his dreams.

"Do you think," he asked sometimes, "That our dreams are real? Do you think we travel to other worlds where things are different when we sleep?"

Normally he'd get scoffed at, but that didn't stop Tamamori from wondering.

But there had always been... something. Every time he closed his eyes and woke up in a whole new world all of his own, no matter where or when or what he was doing, there was always a subtle, underlying feeling of anxiousness. Like there was something he needed to do, something he needed to find before the dream came to an end. The more he thought about it, the more it felt like he was searching for something, playing through the levels of a game just to reach the finish line, but no matter how much he pondered over it, he still didn't know what it was he was supposed to find, and he still woke up the next morning without something. It ate away at him every time he couldn't find it, and every night he went without it just made him feel more and more frustrated, and a little bit more empty every time.

-

That night, the night that changed everything, his dream was normal at first. Or as normal as it could be, at least. He always knew when he was in a dream; he could feel it pressing in all around him, slowing his step and calming his thoughts and that night, like every night, felt like a dream.

The scene materialised around him as he began actively searching for it, rows upon rows of empty seats that faded into the darkness in front of him and above him and behind him and a stage solid beneath his feet. He blinked and, as in a dream, the chairs filled, face after face all staring up at him expectantly. He was scanning them before he realised what he was doing, and once he'd started, he couldn't stop. Like there should be someone else out there...

Finally, he saw them. One body amongst the masses with their back turned, shuffling through the aisles towards a glowing green exit sign.

The spotlight flared to life, and immediately Tamamori found himself blinded. Shielding his eyes with his hands, he staggered a few steps backwards and tripped over his heels, landing hard. By the time he'd gotten back onto his feet and scrambled down the steps, they had made it to the exit, but he was faster, shouldering his way through the press of eerily quiet girls to catch the door before it swung shut.

"Hey!" He shouted, and the figure turned around. Tamamori broke into a run again, and the other man looked too stunned to even move.

"Hi," he said again, breathless, once he'd caught up. The other man's jaw dropped slightly, and he said nothing for a long moment.

"You can see me?" He asked eventually, and Tamamori, already slightly confused by the question, nodded slowly.

"Shouldn't I?"

"Well," The other man replied, "No, not really. I mean, you _should_ , but... you're not supposed to notice."

Tamamori shrugged and moved to brush his bangs out of his eyes, only to find he didn't have bangs anymore, and when he tried to stuff his hands in his pockets, he realised his pants - crisp and bright white - don't have them. Damn dreams. He settled for twisting his hands together awkwardly in front of him, and glared when the other man didn't try to hide his amusement.

"Why?" Tamamori asked eventually, but the other man just smiled apologetically.

"You're supposed to wake up now," he told him instead. "Maybe I'll tell you next time, if you can find me."

Tamamori felt his eyes trying to open again, as if they operated by command, and tried to cling onto the dream a little longer.

"Who are you?" He asked, even as everything began to fade around him, "My name- I'm Tamamori."

"I know," the other man replied, still smiling warmly but fading fast, "I'm Miyata."

All too soon the sunshine was bright behind his eyelids, and Tamamori rolled over with a groan of protest. But for once it didn't last, and as the dream filtered back into his mind, he started to grin broadly.

Finally, he'd found it.

-

He spent the entire day wondering about whether or not he'd be able to find Miyata again, but he needn't have worried. Miyata was right there the moment he opened his eyes, and Tamamori couldn't help mirroring the grin on the other man's face.

"Hi!" Miyata chirped, and Tamamori schooled his expression into one of slight annoyance instead.

"I thought you said I'd have to find you. What kind of hide-and-seek is this?"

"An easy one." Miyata replied easily. "Besides, you didn't want to spend all night looking stupid again, did you?"

Tamamori spluttered in defence, then choked when Miyata slung an arm around his shoulders.

"It's okay," he promised, "I'll do my best to stop you looking _too_ stupid."

When Tamamori was done grumbling and growling about idiots, he found out Miyata wasn't just any regular figment of his imagination. Miyata was a Dream Weaver, one of many who manipulated dreams to ensure they were right for the person in them. Dreams, even the scary ones, were a necessary part of life, Miyata had explained, and without properly configured dreams, a person could lose their mind.

At Tamamori's look, Miyata grinned and flashed a peace sign, adding, "No pressure!"

Tamamori soon found that the more time he spend with Miyata, the more the other man would creep into his thoughts during his waking hours too. He’d hear or see things and want to share them with Miyata, but couldn't find him every night to do that. It irritated him no end because if Miyata wasn't there to take care of his dreams, then who was? And why couldn't he find _them_? And just whose dreams was Miyata wandering around in?

-

“Where have you been?!” Tamamori demanded the next time Miyata showed up. They were on a clifftop this time, nothing but endless green grass in one direction and bright blue sky in the other.

Miyata raised his eyebrows and nudged Tamamori in the side. “Why?” He asked, “Miss me?”

“Of course not,” Tamamori muttered sullenly, which only appeared to amuse Miyata even more.

“Jealous?” He poked, and Tamamori growled under his breath.

“Shut up, idiot.”

“Aww, don’t worry, Tama-chan.” Miyata’s arm found its way around his shoulders again, and Tamamori grumbled some more at Miyata’s ignorance of his personal space, “I won’t tell anyone. Promise.”

Tamamori’s back and shoulders were warm underneath the weight of Miyata’s arm, and, _only_ because it had nowhere else to go, his own hand ended up on Miyata’s hip.

Tamamori was sure Miyata’s eyes glowed a little brighter after that.

-

The months passed slowly, and Tamamori struggled to find a pattern in Miyata's appearances. One week he'd see the other man every night, and the next he might not see him at all. He tried thinking of him before he slept, then not thinking of him at all. He tried going to bed early and staying awake until his eyes were closing where he stood. He tried all kinds of medical sleeping aids, and just about every natural remedy under the sun, but there wasn’t any one thing that ensured Miyata’s presence in his dreams.

After a full month without seeing him, Tamamori was getting desperate. Before, he’d been content to chatter to anything and everything, but now, without Miyata there to talk to, to share his thoughts and problems and prayers with, it just wasn’t the same. Instead of venting his troubles, the time he spent in his dreams was used searching, hoping the other man would be there that night.

If he stopped and thought about how odd it was to be so dependent on someone who only existed in his head, he knew he’d lose his mind, so he very determinedly _didn’t_ think about it, but that didn’t make it any easier. Every day he awoke so tired and so drained that it was almost more effort than he could muster to get out of bed for the day.

“I’m going crazy,” he told his reflection one night. “Totally mental.”

But that didn’t stop him searching.

-

Six weeks since he’d last seen Miyata, Tamamori found himself somewhere new. The sky above him was a deep, rich and golden and the grass beneath his toes wasn't the green he was used to, made up instead of swirling shades of lilac and violet and wine. He couldn't bear to tear his eyes away, but the constant motion soon started to make his head spin. He walked slowly with the tickle of grass between his toes and the scent of lavender on the breeze, finally feeling awake after a day of falling asleep at his desk.

“You’re going to end up killing yourself, you know,” said a familiar voice, and Tamamori spun around with wide eyes.

“Calm down,” Miyata told him, “Sit. Breathe. Rest, that’s what you’re supposed to do. Or scream and shout,” he shrugged, “Whatever makes you feel better.” He placed both hands on Tamamori’s shoulders and eased him down to the ground, which was surprisingly soft and cushioned despite its appearance.

“Why aren’t you here every night?” Tamamori asked instead.

If Miyata were a flower, his petals would have drooped around the edges. “I can only be here when you need me most. Sometimes your dreams can just kind of... take care of themselves.”

“But I-” Tamamori starts, but stops himself before he spills his heart before them. _But I need you every night._ “But I’ve been so _tired_ , they weren’t taking care of themselves at all!”

Miyata sighed, and Tamamori couldn’t help wanting the grin to come back. “Only because you wouldn’t let them.”

Tamamori already knows he doesn’t want his dreams to look after themselves when the alternative is the company, but he doesn’t tell Miyata as much.

"What if you're not real?” He settles for instead. “What if I've made you up, and you're just my mind trying to drive me crazy?"

Miyata scoffed and tugged him close, ducking underneath Tamamori’s arm, "You couldn't dream up someone as awesome as me." Tamamori choked on shocked laughter but Miyata continued over him, his voice turning suggestive, "But it is good to know I drive you crazy."

Tamamori shoved at him with a noise of disgust, but soon Miyata was back under his arm again.

"Don't think about it so much, Yuta. You'll just drive _yourself_ crazy if you do."

Tamamori sighed softly, and Miyata hummed a questioning, "Mm?"

He only caught Tamamori's eye for a moment, but it was long enough.

"Yu~u~ta," he sang quietly, then again, soft as a whisper, "Yu~ta."

Tamamori shivered, and Miyata grinned into his hair.

-

The next night, Miyata kissed him.

They’d been in the same place again, sprawled on the ground surrounded by those shining, luscious colours, just talking and talking and talking. Tamamori couldn’t remember what they had been talking about when Miyata had rolled onto his side and looked down at him with such big, brown eyes, just remembered asking a question and never getting an answer.

Miyata’s mouth was as warm as the rest of him, and soft and smooth against Tamamori’s own. His kiss was warmer still, full of things he’d never voiced, and as soon as Tamamori got over the shock of it, he responded in kind.

Miyata’s fingers slid through his hair and down his neck, and Tamamori shuddered involuntarily and pressed closer, arms winding around Miyata’s waist to keep him there.

By the time Miyata let him up for air, Tamamori was almost too addled to remember how to breathe, and it was only the soft, rhythmic pass of the tips of Miyata’s fingers along his side, exposed where his shirt had ridden up, that brought him back to himself again.

“Hi,” he said breathlessly, and Miyata chuckled and dipped down to kiss him again.

“Hello.” Miyata replied eventually, and Tamamori couldn’t stop the laughter that bubbled up and out of his throat. Miyata grinned back, which only made Tamamori laugh harder, and soon Miyata was laughing too. The more Miyata laughed at him, the harder it was for Tamamori to stop, and before long his whole body was aching pleasantly from the strain. Eventually they switched the laughter out for more kisses instead, and Miyata soothed the pain away with gentle hands as they lay together in the grass.

-

After a wonderful week of dreams together, Tamamori was feeling much more like himself again, but also so much worse. It was so easy to get up in the morning, to eat and go to work and do his best when he knew Miyata would be there the moment he closed his eyes, but at the same time, he knew it couldn’t last. Then one night, and the next, and the night after that, Miyata wasn’t there. Three whole months passed with no sign of him, and then a fourth.

It felt like life was repeating itself all over again, except this time, every waking moment felt like a moment lost. Nothing he felt towards his family or his friends or his co-workers could compare to the way he felt when he was with Miyata, and it felt so good that he didn’t _care_ anymore if he was losing his mind.

Every moment Tamamori spent not knowing when or if he’d be able to see him again was unbearable. Heartbreak wasn’t something he’d ever experienced before, but Tamamori was convinced of what it felt like. Like an entire part of him had gone missing, like it had gathered up all the positive emotion he’d ever felt and taken it when it disappeared, leaving him feeling lost and empty. Part of Tamamori wanted to sleep forever if waking up meant being alone.

The kisses they shared the next time they were together were needy and frantic, hands clutching and grappling to keep hold of each other as they made love underneath their gleaming sky.

“I’m sorry,” Miyata said over and over into Tamamori’s skin, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” and Tamamori hushed him and pressed closer until he couldn’t tell where one of them ended and the other began.

As they lay together in the place he’d come to think of as their own, Tamamori’s fingers traced idle patterns across Miyata’s chest where the sparkle of the sky made him shine from the inside out.

_Why can’t you be real?_

He sighed heavily, and shuffled up to wrap his arms around Miyata’s neck. Miyata held him without question, arms strong and safe around him.

"I don't want to wake up this time." Tamamori’s voice was tiny as he spoke against Miyata's throat, “What if you don’t come back?”

“I’ll always come back,” Miyata promised. “I’d never abandon you. You-” He paused, then gripped Tamamori even tighter. “All you have to do is say it.”

“I-” Tamamori began in a whisper, fingers tight around Miyata’s shoulders, “I need you. I can’t... I do. Please.”

Miyata drew Tamamori’s face towards him with gentle fingers and kissed him softly. “Okay. It’s time to wake up now.”

“What? No, not yet, I don’t know when I’ll see you again, I’m not-” Tamamori could feel Miyata fading between his fingers, could feel darkness creeping in around the edges, but he clung on desperately, not ready to let go yet.

“Just wake up, Yuta.” Miyata’s voice was quiet, muffled. “Wake up now.”

Tamamori woke with a start, tangled in his sheets with damp, tear-streaked cheeks. He pressed himself deeper into his pillow and swallowed down a sob, willing himself back to sleep, back into the dream.

When a hand touched his shoulder, he all but fell off the bed in his haste to get away, and leapt out of bed only to find himself face to face with the one person that couldn’t _possibly_ be in his apartment.

"What are you doing here!?" He burst out, face a picture of surprise. "... Am I still dreaming?"

Miyata said nothing for a long moment, just grinned that infuriatingly wide, bright, heart-warming grin that Tamamori never wanted to be without again. Then Miyata leaned over to tug him back towards the bed, and got up on his knees to press their foreheads together and wrap his arms around Tamamori's shoulders, so much more solid and comforting and _real_ than they had been before.

"Sometimes," he murmured against Tamamori's mouth, "Dreams come true."


End file.
